


In The Fading Golden Light

by DoubleL27



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Boys In Love, David Rose is the epitome of you marry your father, Deleted Scenes, Designated Grapes, Episode: s06e07 Moira Rosé, Family, Fluff, Johnny and Patrick are very similar, M/M, Parallels, and i love that about him, so are David and Moira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: Collecting David and Mrs. Rose from the Ertlinger Winery was as entertaining as Patrick had been expecting. If nothing else, the unbridled joy that had washed over David’s face when he’d walked into the tasting room would have been enough. Though, it was immediately very clear that David and Mrs. Rose had consumed enough wine for an entire party, between the table covered in wine glasses, the box of empties and the smell that wafted off of David.ORDeleted Scenes from Johnny and Patrick going to collect their bold designated grapes.
Relationships: Johnny Rose/Moira Rose, Patrick Brewer & Johnny Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 52
Kudos: 332





	In The Fading Golden Light

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been in the works since February, even before the Episode 6.07 Moira Rose aired. I owe many thanks to the brainstormers of this fic who yelled at me in a chat to come up with an idea. In the four months since then this has diverged greatly, but you know that this never would have gotten off the ground without you.
> 
> To TINN: All my thanks. You gave me the notes on this almost two months ago, called me out on OOC moments, kept me on track and told me what was actually funny and asked important questions like "Why is this important?" I appreciate everything you do. 
> 
> The title is from Noah Reid's _I Had a Dream Last Night_

“That was a game, huh?” Mr. Rose asked for what was possibly the fifth time since the end of the ninth inning. “What a game!”

“It was.” Patrick picked the box of pizza off of David’s bed and moved it to the table while the post-game commentary continued on in the background. They were quizzing the Jay’s manager over choices that lead to a win. “Glad we pulled it out there in the end. There was a moment—” The sound of a sharp ringing cut off Patrick’s words. “Uh, Mr. Rose, that sounds like it’s coming from your room.”

Mr. Rose looked around a few moments before pausing. “Oh,  _ oh _ . So it does...So it does. I’ll just go and uh...get it,” he mumbled, heading for the door. “I wonder who…” 

Patrick followed Mr. Rose as far as the doorway of his room as Mr. Rose picked up the phone. “Hello. Oh, Herb. I wasn’t expecting a call from you. Looking for a deal with a local motel chain as well?” Mr. Rose let out a little laugh.

“Ah, oh, wow!” Mr. Rose’s hand came up to rub at his chin and glance to the curtained windows. “You’re right. It has been quite awhile. You know, I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” 

Mr. Rose turned and shot a wide smile toward Patrick. “See, I’ve been watching the baseball game with my soon-to-be son-in-law, here Some pizza, a beer, a real guys night—not that, I mean, anyone could have enjoyed it.” Mr. Rose gave another chuckle. “We won, by the way. Great game! Some really strong relief pitching clinched the game for us.”

Which Patrick had almost said verbatim three minutes ago to Mr. Rose when the game had ended. It was sweet, really, how excited Mr. Rose was that they’d spent some time together. Considering everything, Patrick couldn’t regret that David had carefully planned an escape. He loved the whole Rose family, quirks and all.

Mr. Rose’s laugh trailed off and his eyebrows sunk low on his face while he listened to Herb Ertlinger on the other end of the phone. “Hmm. Yes. I see. Well, no, no we wouldn’t want that at all. I mean, Moira has gone places on at least three different types of medication and two bottles of wine but that was when we had a driver.”

“Yes, Herb, no problem. We’ll be right up.”

Mr. Rose hung the phone back into the cradle and rubbed his hands together. “Well, Patrick, we’ve been summoned. It appears our better halves have enjoyed themselves a little too much. Do you want to take your car? They took the Lincoln.”

“Definitely, Mr. Rose. Let me go start the car.”

It wasn’t long before they were both inside his Toyota, heading for the winery. Mr. Rose was giving delayed, stuttering instructions for how to get to the vineyard just behind the GPS on Patrick’s phone. Patrick flipped on the radio and hit the local classic rock station in hopes that the music would calm some of Mr. Rose’s nerves that had him talking over the computer automated directions. 

“So, I—um,” Mr. Rose began, reminding Patrick of how David occasionally started converations when he wasn’t sure how to have them. Patrick shot a glance over and noted that Mr. Rose was rubbing his hands up and down on his pants. “This may not be the last time you have to go pick David up somewhere.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Rose,” Patrick said, feeling it best not to highlight just how many times he had to collect David after a night, or afternoon, or morning really with Stevie. “My mom and her friends play some mean pochino for pennies, lots of arguing and lots of wine spritzers. My dad is one of the people that tends to ferry people home at the end of the night. They also go to Boston Pizza for margaritas and that usually also ends with an SOS for Clint.”

“Ah, well, that’s good. Not that your mom needs your dad to come pick her up drunk places. I’m assuming she doesn’t have—It’s not like a problem.” Mr. Rose frowned, considering, and Patrick had to tamp his lips down and stare out the window not to laugh. “Not that Moira or David have a problem, you know.”

“Of course not, Mr. Rose,” he agreed, evenly. 

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of Tom Petty crooning on the radio between them. 

  
“You know,” Mr. Rose cleared his throat, “and I’m sure you know this Patrick, but the thing is with Moria and David, and Alexis really, is that they seem to be so unassailable. A lioness and her cubs, if you will, but they’re all so very sensitive. Not many people see it.”

“Oh, yes, David’s sensitivity required redoing the bathroom in my apartment so he can put in his fancy Japanese toilet so the place is livable. I’m quite aware.”

Mr. Rose just chuckled. “Ah, sending a fourteen year old boy to Japan is a mistake, Patrick. I would-would advise you against doing it. David went to Japan for two weeks, came home, the next thing I knew we were shipping in sushi grade tuna weekly, Patrick, and believe me that did not come cheap.”

The image of a fourteen year old David, asymmetrical haircut and raver clothes demanding orders of fresh tuna for lunches came to Patrick suddenly. He couldn’t help the grin that curled on his face. A plus column for not having children together was to not be subject to the whims of a child raised by David. “Oh, I think I can manage to follow that advice, Mr. Rose. David did some very careful comparison shopping for this toilet.”

The sun was just starting to dip toward the horizon as they continued up the road and Patrick flicked his headlights on. 

“Ah, yes, well,” Mr. Rose sighed, but it sounded amused. “Shopping is a whole other thing. David did have a brief period where he thought he could write off anything he purchased when he worked at the Blouse Barn.”

“Yup.” 

Patrick had covered tax write-offs early on while opening Rose Apothecary as well as how budgets worked when David had excitedly explained his time with the corporate credit card for the Blouse Barn. Thankfully, David had started off with a clear concept of profit margins and mark-ups. 

“Still,” Mr. Rose said, affection flooding his voice, “Moira was so damn pleased with herself for that premiere dress. I’m not even mad she kept it. Returning Alexis’s dress didn’t actually put money back on the credit card, you know, but it’s the thought that counts.”

The way that Mr. Rose loved Mrs. Rose, unconditionally and with a deep and abiding respect, was the way that Patrick’s parents loved each other. He liked to imagine he loves David half as well. David certainly loves him like that. Patrick’s not sure, if the roles were reversed, if he would have been as forgiving over the  _ not coming out to one's parents and telling them about the relationship that changed your life  _ thing. David had seen Patrick at his worst and is still here. 

“David’s actually been very realistic with how much money we can actually spend on this wedding. It hasn’t been hard to stick to a budget.”

Whining and moaning may happen and gnashing of teeth while David reviewed what is and is not important. Pizza was more important than tents, apparently, _ because it’s not like it rains all that often, anyway. _

“That’s good. That’s good,” Mr. Rose nodded along. “We went over budget by two million for his bar mitzvah.”

Patrick could only imagine. The spiral Patrick had dealt with over the floral budget and substandard flowers, and what they could do with the money they had, had led to at least ten different back and forth conversations between David and Dulce. Somehow they had settled on less arrangements and David had agreed that having their wedding behind the motel was at least better than a dingy hall that would need considerable work.

Collecting David and Mrs. Rose from the Ertlinger Winery was as entertaining as Patrick had been expecting. If nothing else, the unbridled joy that had washed over David’s face when he’d walked into the tasting room would have been enough. Though, it was immediately very clear that David and Mrs. Rose had consumed enough wine for an entire party, between the table covered in wine glasses, the box of empties and the smell that wafted off of David. 

Still, they managed to extract David and Mrs. Rose from the tasting room and the disgruntled eye of the proprietor with little further damage. 

“Y’know David,” Mr. Rose called back to David who was following behind him, “this reminds me of the time I had to send the plane to pick you up from Joseph Gordon Levitt’s birthday party.”

“DAD,” David hissed, his face transforming into a riot of emotions as he continued, stalking over toward Patrick and his car. “WE DO NOT SPEAK OF JGL."

Patrick couldn’t help the grin that graced his own face. “Oh, I think we might need to.”

“Nope. No. Nope. We don’t need to because  _ you _ —” David swayed a little as he poked at Patrick’s shoulder. His smile was bright enough to eclipse the sun though, and Patrick fell a little more in love with him. David’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You are going to be my  _ husband _ .”

“I am. I am.” Patrick loved how David’s head gave a bobble nod as he confirmed that they were going to be married. He was so in love with David Rose, it was almost stupid. “Now, why don’t you get into the car.”

David leaned in as Patrick carefully walked him over to the Toyota. “I really didn’t hate the radish wine,” David confided.

“Okay,” Patrick agreed.

“The one that tasted of _ to-mat-oes _ was not terrible!” Mrs. Rose called out from where Mr. Rose was working to coax her into the Lincoln. 

David’s head fell back as he barked out a short laugh. “Uhhh, it was only mildly potable after we mixed it with the broccoli-cucumber one!”

Patrick looked at his husband, helplessly bemused at the situation. “I’m surprised you got so drunk considering the descriptions you’re giving here.”

“One was dish shoap.” David blinked at him owlishly before screwing his face up in concentration. “Shap. Soap.”

Patrick carefully guided David closer to the open door and used one hand on David’s head to prevent him from smacking against the door frame, an incident definitely occurs when David was sober. “Watch your head, David. There it is.”

As David fought with the seatbelt, Patrick looked over to where Mr. Rose had Mrs. Rose half in the passenger seat, her feet still planted in the gravel driveway. Mr. Rose glanced over his shoulder as Mrs. Rose flopped back into the seat, triumphantly with her purse. Patrick shared a smile with Mr. Rose, giving a silent nod.

“Honey! Honey!” Patrick looked down to see David patting his own lap. “Come sit.”

“We’re not doing that, David.”

“Why?” David’s face transformed into a massive pout. “If you can come and sleep in my  _ teeny-tiny  _ bed, I think you can squish into the _ teeny-tiny _ space in this car on my lap.”

“Well, David, as I am driving you home, I don’t think that’s happening.” 

David’s face fell into a deep frown, and Patrick’s heart turned over in his chest. Instead of arguing, Patrick bent down and took David’s seatbelt, which somehow still wasn’t fastened. Leaning into the car he buckled David in while David showered his face with sloppy kisses. David’s hand came up to run over the back of Patrick’s thigh, holding him in place while David’s head leaned against the front, suspiciously close to his crotch. David began drawing lazy, elegant designs with his finger. 

“We should go.” Patrick said to David, who was falling asleep against his leg. Patrick worked on extracting himself while he called out. “Mr. Rose, you’ll follow behind?”

“What?” Mr. Rose called back, glancing away from Mrs. Rose who slumped awkwardly forward in her seat. “Oh, yes Patrick, go ahead.”

“I cannot believe that my mother thought we should actually sell  _ that swill  _ in  _ our  _ store.” poking viciously at Patrick’s thigh. “I mean, if you want to take the paint off a bumper, sure.  **Sell the wine to** **_Bob_ ** !”

Herb Ertlinger slammed the winery door hard behind him, causing everyone to startle. His brow was low on his face with a deep scowl as he locked up. “Oh, there will be no deal.”

“Not sorry,  _ Erb _ !” David cried as the vinter stalked to his car. A cackle of a laugh escaped David’s lips. “Erbert!”

Patrick was amused despite himself. There was no arguing with David in this state. He finished putting David’s limbs back into the car and closed the door on David before finding his way around to the driver’s side door. It was going to be a long ride home from the winery with David riding high on fruit wine. As it was, David gave him a cheery wave when he opened his door. This was certainly payback for his wisdom teeth two weeks ago, Patrick was certain. Although, it was some damn adorable payback. Patrick waved back before sliding in.

“All I’m saying, Moira, is that SOME people DO get sick in the car,” Mr. Rose’s voice filtered over.

“AAACKK!” Mrs. Rose’s scream rent the air and Patrick froze, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “NO EMISSIONS OR EXPULSIONS MUST VENTURE INTO PENELOPE'S ORBIT JOHN! OH GOD! OH GOD! DAVID HAS ALWAYS HAD THE STOMACH OF AN ANXIETY RIDDLED CANINE! YOU REMEMBER HIS FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH PHENOBARBITAL!”

Patrick definitely did not need to know that story. He went to close the door, but David stretched the seatbelt to lean over, practically in his lap, yelling out the open door, "I’m in a different  _ fucking  _ car!”

“That’s why I brought the headband,” Mr. Rose agreed, entirely ignoring either of the other Roses.

“Un- _ fucking _ -believable,” David muttered, falling back into his seat with a loud huff. His arms cross defensively, hands buried deep into his elbows. “Not even in her  _ damn _ car.”

“Can I get you anything?”

David’s head pivoted on the headrest to face him, like an animatronic version of his fiance. David’s mouth opened but the space where David’s response should have gone was preempted with Mrs. Rose yelling, “You could be gentle John, rather than treat her like a  _ common hostage! She remains affixed to my head. _ ”

David’s face was one of long suffering annoyances as his eyes rolled and his face contorted. He sighed and his eyes turned forlorn. “Water?”

“Definitely,” Patrick promised. He craned over the center console and rooted around in the back of the car for the case of water he’d loaded in for the Cafe Tropical team practice the next day. 

Patrick handed the bottle of water over to David. David fingers brushed over Patrick’s as he took the bottle, and mouthed a silent  _ thank you _ , volume control still on drunk levels of very loud or non-existent. Watching David guzzle water sloppily should have been neither endearing or attractive but it was to Patrick. He forced himself to turn away and set the car in gear to leave the winery behind.

Somewhere in the time that it had taken to coax David and Mrs. Rose from the winery and safely into their cars, the sun had closer to the horizon, casting long shadows. David’s head came toward Patrick’s shoulder and his hands stroked along Patrick’s arm. 

Not far from the winery, David’s mouth found itself on the collar of his sweatshirt. David was nibbling at his shoulder with a similar intensity to the greeting that Patrick had received upon walking into the fruit winery. David’s hands were also free roaming all over his body, down his chest and back. That Patrick had any control of the car was a small miracle. David’s hands were drunk and clumsy rather than the epitome of nimble precision. 

“You know what my favorite thing about sweatpants is?” David cooed, his hand traveling down Patrick’s belly and sinking to the top of his sweatpants. “How very nicely they feature your dick.”

The hand cupped around his half-hard dick that was beginning to swell with the moment. Patrick almost jumped right out of his seat, seatbelt keeping him in place. Somehow, he managed not to press the gas pedal fully to the floor or slam on the breaks. As it was, he forced himself to take a deep breath in and out as David continued to very gently stroke at his dick.

“Baby,” Patrick said, quietly, “I need you to remove your hand and sit in your own seat.”

“I just want to touch it a little.” David continued to caress his penis through the soft pants. His voice was loving and wondrous, and it only made Patrick harder. 

“Mmm. Yes,” And another day Patrick would have considered it. “But your dad is literally behind us and if I swerve off the road because of—” Patrick cut off with a sharp inhale as David gave him a light squeeze. “Fuck, David. Hands.” 

“Your dad will pull over to find out why we are pulled over, and I don’t—” David tried slipping his hand up and under the waistband. “Your own seat!”

David recoiled into his seat, wrapping his arms around himself like they were tentacles and a fierce pout etched into his face. Patrick let out a sigh of relief and tried to relive his conversation with Mr. Rose to deflate certain parts of his anatomy. The peace only lasted a minute at the most before a tender caress began over his thigh.

“David.”

“But it’s your thigh, not your dick,” his fiance whined. Patrick didn’t have to take his eyes off the road to imagine the faces David was making.

“Getting awful close there, David. And...nnggh! David,” Patrick picked up David’s hand that had traveled right up to his dick and removed it from his person. “I’m sleeping with you in a bed next to Alexis because  _ you’re _ having the apartment renovated,” he ground out through his teeth. “Nothing is happening tonight.”

“This is  _ why _ we  _ need _ to  _ do it _ in the  _ car _ .”

“Mmm. No,” Patrick said, decisively. He picked up the connector and tossed it to David. “Why don’t you plug in your road trip mix?”

David fiddled with the connector cord and his phone muttering about all the new things they needed, like phones and cars that weren’t trash heaps on wheels. Patrick mentally went over the next quarterly tax reports for the store in the event that and focused straight ahead, while David began belting out Mariah and the rest of his favorites. Drunken karaoke David was one of his favorite drunken Davids. Patrick sung along under his breath, so as not to startle David into stopping.

Midway through the drive David trailed off in the middle of Whitney Houston’s _ Didn’t We Almost Have it All  _ his head coming to rest against the passenger side window. Patrick drove, still humming along to the mix, while David’s breath came in tiny puffs, leaving clouds against the window. There’s a peace to driving David home after a day of drinking. Like he’d said to Mr. Rose, it’s a service he’s seen his dad perform for his mom a hundred times. It feels very married and lived in, to do this for David. 

When they pulled into the motel, their home for the night, it wasn’t lost on Patrick that soon they would come home together all the time, to a place that was theirs. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to share the one room apartment with all of David’s knits for long. He hadn’t given up hope on setting them up in the perfect place sooner rather than later. A few more pieces needed to fall into place. Considering how fated everything with David felt up to this point, Patrick hoped that this would be part of it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] In the Fading Golden Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27256600) by [Amanita_Fierce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanita_Fierce/pseuds/Amanita_Fierce)




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